A Man Cannot Live Alone
by Kadreia
Summary: Sherlock says something and John misunderstands. While John ignores Sherlock over a month they both realize how much they really need each other.


"It's the priest." Sherlock said.

"Now, how did you get that? The priest is the one who found the body and called the police." Lestrade instantly replied.

"Exactly! It's the perfect cover up. No one would ever suspect the person who calls. They, rather, would feel sorry for them. You people always have to make everything so complicated."

"Do you at least want to tell me how you deduced it?"

"Well it's all quite simple, really. If maybe you would stop and smell the roses you maybe would have found the answer yourself."

"Sherlock, what the hell are you saying? I don't have time to just stop and take a leisurely stroll through the park every time I get a-"

"That's not what I meant," said Sherlock, cutting him off, "The roses in the girl's pocket have a faint smell of the priest's aftershave on them. Anyway, since the priest said he had never seen her before, and his aftershave was on the roses, I had reason to suspect him."

"Why? It's aftershave. I'm sure there are thousands of men that wear that same kind."

"I know. I thought of that. The girl also had a cross necklace on-"

"So?"

"Don't interrupt me. _So_, the priest was missing his necklace. He must have wanted to mark the body with a signature of some kind, was in a hurry, and took the first thing that would stay on the body without falling or washing off."

"That still doesn't prove it was he who killed her."

"His mother's name on the back of the necklace. He must have been very careless not to have noticed it."

"Okay, that's all I needed." Lestrade said as he was speedily dialing the station to tell them to arrest the priest.

"Good work, Sherlock," muttered John, walking back up from the crime scene.

Sherlock looked at John and gave little smile, hardly noticeable. He turned back to Lestrade, "John and I will be leaving now."

"Okay. I'll call you next time I need you."

"Lestrade, I hope you know I'm not your bloody hound that you can just call and I will come. I will come when and if I please."

Lestrade smirked, "Okay then. You won't get many friends acting like that."

Sherlock looked at him, and then calmly said, "I don't have _friends_."

John stared at Sherlock, who was still looking at Lestrade. He knew that Sherlock didn't have many friends, but he did consider himself one of Sherlock's best friends, and he thought that Sherlock felt the same way. He stared in disbelief. What the hell did Sherlock mean by that? Was he just a flat mate that helped him in his detective work? Did he mean anything to the great detective, or was he just another one of those people that didn't help him at all, and was just there?

* * *

><p>The ride back to 221B Baker Street was a quiet one. Of course, they usually were, with just a few words passing between the two, but this one was an awkward quiet, and no words were passed between them. John was pissed, and Sherlock knew that. He had already deduced that by the way that John had walked to the cab when they were leaving the crime scene. He just couldn't seem to figure out why he was mad, and brushed it off thinking either: his flat mate would tell him, or John would forget about it.<p>

When they reached Baker Street they both got out of the cab, went inside, hugged Mrs. Hudson, and went up to their flat. John went straight to his room, and Sherlock went to the couch to check his website. The cases that people had submitted to him didn't interest him, though. All of his thoughts were on John. Pondering it, all of his thoughts have been about John lately. He could have solved that case, about the priest, twice as fast if he weren't thinking about him. He pushed his computer off his lap and stretched all the way out. None of his cases interested him anymore. The only case that interested him was why John was so mad. This was his last thought before he drifted into a light sleep.

* * *

><p>"John, there is a murder on the opposite side of town. Would you like to come?" Sherlock said, sounding surprisingly desperate.<p>

"No, I'm going out." John replied without even looking at him.

"Oh. Okay then," murmured Sherlock, not even trying to hide his disappointment. John hadn't been out on a case with him for a month. The last one he had gone to was the "Priest's Rose," and afterwards John had always been distant from him. Sherlock thought sooner or later he himself was going to break down. His cases were taking him twice as long to solve, and he just couldn't shake his mind off of John.

He suddenly stood up, and yelled "Dammit, John you bastard! Why can't you just be your normal self again?"

John was halfway out the door. He stopped and stared at Sherlock, obviously shocked by the usually quiet detective's outburst. "What do you know about my normal self?" John retorted.

"Oh please, John. I probably know more about you than you do. I just can't figure out why you are so pissed lately, and it's messing with my work!"

"Why the hell would it be messing with _your_ work?_ I'm_ the one pissed!"

"God John! I would have thought that even _you _would have figured it out by now!"

"Figured out _what_ exactly, Sherlock?"

"That I'm worried about you, John! I can't concentrate on any of my cases knowing that you are avoiding me!"

"Only friends worry about each other, and you, being the great detective that you are, don't need friends. Now, do you? You even said you didn't have any."

The lengthy detective suddenly pushed John against the wall. His face inches from John's, "Is this why you have been so mad lately?" Sherlock asked.

"Y-yes," John stammered. Sherlock suddenly pressed his lips against John's. John was surprised… _very _surprised. He was surprised at how soft the detective's lips were and how much passion he put into the kiss. John never would have thought that Sherlock could have put_ that_ much passion into a kiss. John suddenly realized he was running his hand through Sherlock's hair. He was, again, surprised at how soft it was. He was surprised at how soft everything about the man was: his lips, his hair, his hand on the back of his neck and his side, and his very soft moan.

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone beeped. He broke away from John, and checked his phone. His hand was still on the back of John's neck. "It seems the second richest man in London has just been murdered. Do you want to come along with me?" Sherlock said, somewhat annoyed about having been interrupted.

John replied, "Thank God you've asked. I miss being out on cases with you."

Sherlock smiled and said "John, I don't have _friends. _I have you and that's all I need."

John smiled back, obviously quite happy. "I should have seen that sooner."

Giving John one last kiss Sherlock said, "Took you long enough. All right let's go then. Murderers don't catch themselves and Lestrade, as sure as hell, isn't going to do it!"

John gave a little laugh. Sherlock smiled at this, then he grabbed John's hand and started walking to the door. John suddenly stopped and jerked Sherlock back closer to him.

"Sherlock," John was looking down at his shoes his face a light shade of pink, "Sherlock, I love you."

Sherlock smiled, this time out of genuine affection rather than halfhearted amusement. "And I love you, John."

John looked up and grinned back. Together, they left for the case.


End file.
